


To and fro, within the night

by InvertedPhantasmagoria



Series: and I forge myself [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Disturbing Themes, Fear Play, Gen, Hollows are awful, How Do I Tag, Hueco Mundo is miserable, Light Xeno, Near Death Experiences, Past Lives, Psychological Torture, Self-Indulgent, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 10:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20581352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvertedPhantasmagoria/pseuds/InvertedPhantasmagoria
Summary: “Ulquiorra,” Aizen says when the meeting is done. When everyone else has been dismissed.“Go find it. If there’s even anitto find.”And that’s all there is to it.





	To and fro, within the night

**Author's Note:**

> I am back on my bullshit with more self-indulgent Oc nonsense!!!! :D And I am having fun! 
> 
> Zora returns to once again fuck up one of the Arrancar, and this time, Ulquiorra is the victim. As in, he gets sort of wrecked. As one commenter on the last fic put it; "titan Mosasaur steals your soul". I got a whole TWO MORE REQUESTS for more Zora, so here she is. More Zora. Hopefully, there will be even more sequels to this!

Grimmjow returns to Las Noches. Grimmjow returns without his sword. Grimmjow returns with a shaking in his limbs, blood dripping down his neck, and the most terrified expression Ulquiorra ever thought he’d see on one so proud. 

Aizen isn’t happy. A meeting is called, all ten of them sitting silent and solemn around the table as the failure of one of their own is laid on the chopping block for all to take their own piece. 

For once, Grimmjow doesn’t have much to say. 

. . . 

A creature out in the sands is all he can provide. Some monstrous Hollow, stronger than Starrk and Barragan put together. A beast. A  _ threat. _

Aizen smiles, calm and ever–patient. He informs Grimmjow that there can be no such creature out in the sands. That he, Aizen, was the one to track down any Hollows worthy of becoming Arrancar. 

Grimmjow laughs, but the sound lacks any shred of amusement.

“You’ll see,” he says, as if not at all concerned for his own well–being anymore. “If you don’t believe me, send someone out after it. I didn’t leave Pantera out there on my own. That  _ thing  _ took it.” Grimmjow’s mouth is set in a stony grin, more serious than Ulquiorra has seen of him yet. Like that, it’s almost possible to believe he could be telling some semblance of truth.

“Very well,” Aizen replies, smiling still. “We’ll see just what your creature out in the sand is. I’m sure Pantera will be recovered as well.”

With those words, Ulquiorra already has a feeling he knows who will be sent off on the trail of the mystery Hollow. The only person obedient enough to go running off after something so obviously false.  _ Him.  _

. . . 

“Ulquiorra,” Aizen says when the meeting is done. When everyone else has been dismissed. 

“Go find it. If there’s even an  _ it  _ to find.”

And that’s all there is to it.

. . . 

Orders are orders, and Ulquiorra finds himself out in the sand not long after, standing still and quiet and staring out at the endless world of white, at the impossibly black sky above him. 

He doesn’t spend much time out in Hueco Mundo anymore. Las Noches is where Aizen is. Las Noches is where his superior is. That’s all there is to it. Someone like him has no reason to stray from the side of the one who commands him, and that’s exactly how Ulquiorra stays. Leashed, calm and proper and contained. 

The air outside Las Noches is colder than he remembers. 

Ulquiorra moves through the sand quickly, Sonido propelling him towards the location that Grimmjow described. He should find Pantera there, certainly abandoned in the sand on some stupid whim. There’s not a chance that the creature Grimmjow imagined could actually exist.

Moving farther and farther from Las Noches, out into where the sand grows frigid and dark, transforming into untouched mountains of white, Ulquiorra tries not to feel like this mission is entirely worthless. 

He’s following orders. That’s all he has to do. Personal opinions, whatever of those he may have, don’t matter one bit. 

. . . 

Zora spends a while just sitting amongst the sand, staring up at the sky. She thinks about a lot of things- about the moon, about the wind, about the blade weighing heavy in her hands. 

It’s beautiful to hold a sword again.

For the first time in centuries, Zora is back to something like her usual self. She hasn’t had to bash any heads in  _ yet _ , but taking what’s hers is nothing new. A familiar routine, even. One that she’s missed over the years if a now–heartless creature like she has any room to miss things. 

Stretching her long body out in the cold air, Zora feels at home. The chill reminds her of where she’s from. The moon is somehow the same. 

She doesn’t feel much like sleeping anymore. Instead, she feels like claiming a few more swords for herself. Perhaps there are more beautiful men who smell like warmth and the South in this moonlit world. 

For a little while, she lets her newfound energy- the kind that crushes people to the ground and strangles them on the endless chill of her- surge and crest like waves. It feels  _ right  _ to let herself be so strong, to feel the few isolated beings around her all but falling apart from the force of her. The chill of a snow–torn land seeps into Zora’s bones, and she’s at home. 

Then, she stands, sword in hand. There’s a hunger deep in her gut that her body longs to fulfill. There’s a hunger in her soul that rings all the stronger. A lust for power or a lust for meat. The biggest question now? Which one will win. 

. . . 

Ulquiorra feels the whisper of spiritual pressure around his lungs, colder than anything he’s ever experienced. For one instant, he shudders like his chest is caving in. 

But the pressure vanishes just as quickly as it came. As if the hint of power was nothing more than an attempt at teasing him. 

It’s ridiculous. It’s absurd. There’s no way that there’s anything out here, this deep in the sand. There might be little Hollows, pathetic creatures that bear no merit on the lives of Arrancar, but a monster? 

It simply isn’t possible. 

Ulquiorra presses on.

. . . 

There’s another strange Hollow here, Zora knows, the hint of something sterile and clean hitting her nose. Like water, perhaps, or like the scent of blood drying into something fresh and white. 

Zora stands, laughs into the open night. Will this one have another sword? Will she kill it like she killed everyone before now? So, so many questions. All of them more excitement than anything Zora’s felt since she entered this place. Since she died, perhaps. 

Zora slips beneath the sand once again, sword in hand. The weight of it is familiar, as if she’s charging into battle instead of heading for a one–sided massacre.  _ If  _ she bothers with the killing part. 

The sterile scent grows stronger as she moves. Zora tunes in her nose and the part of her soul that resonates with that scent, and approaches.

This time, when she emerges from the white, stray grains embedded in her hair, it’s to someone entirely different than before.

It’s to a new man altogether. 

This one is small and slight, shorter than her by an almost pathetic amount. He’s built slim, his skin is covered almost entirely, and the black of his hair blends in with the night sky perfectly. There’s half a helmet of white on his head, but no visible mask other than that. His posture is arrogant, self–assured, standing like the world itself is beneath him. 

How entertaining, Zora thinks. How fun, as she steps forward. Whatever will she do with someone like this? 

. . . 

The sudden feeling that he’s being watched settles over Ulquiorra’s skin. It’s not a new feeling, but not a pleasant one either. 

He can’t feel a trace of spiritual pressure. There’s something’s eyes on him, there’s  _ definitely  _ something’s eyes on him, but he can’t feel a trace of who they could be. 

With no other choice, Ulquiorra turns around. 

Calmly, of course, because Ulquiorra  _ is  _ calm. He has no need for feelings such as surprise. He doesn’t have those feelings in the first place. All this is is a mission. There’s nothing at all for him to get worked up about. He’s not like the others, the ones who fall prey to their emotions so quickly. 

But...

But- when Ulquiorra turns around, it’s to a woman who towers above him, somehow even more so than Nnoitra.

She’s  _ huge.  _ Her body is all lean, wiry muscle, her eyes hold something a little too close to worrying and... and there’s not a mask in sight aside from twin crowns of spines on either side of her head. 

This, Ulquiorra realizes, is an Arrancar. 

. . .

“Greetings,” Zora smiles, baring her teeth. “Salutations. All of those other words to be said when someone new arrives.”

Her voice twists around the words, still not quite used to talking. It feels  _ right  _ to find her voice again. She feels like she wants to be loud. 

But now is not the time to scare off her little visitor, not quite yet. She has more entertaining things to do than her old routine. She clenches her fingers around the hilt of her stolen blade and keeps smiling. This is where she’s meant to be. This is what she’s meant to become. 

The new man gives her a very blank look. His face doesn’t change much, just a small twitch at his eye. It’s the only sign of emotion on him. Zora wonders what his face would look like half smashed in. 

“Well?” she asks. “Aren’t you going to greet me as well?”

Her new guest makes exactly the same face, except this time, his eyes narrow just a bit. He’s annoyed, perhaps, maybe frustrated with her for teasing him so badly. She  _ is  _ mocking him, but that’s part of the fun, now isn’t it? It hasn’t been every day that Zora has someone to talk to. It’s only natural that she makes the best of it. 

. . . 

“Who are you?”

The words slip out before Ulquiorra really thinks about them. ‘ _ What are you?’ _ still hanging unspoken behind it. There’s not a trace of spiritual pressure coming from this woman, this Arrancar. 

A dangerous little part of Ulquiorra’s soul wonders if this could be the monster that Grimmjow spoke of. 

“Zora,” the woman laughs, tilting her head. 

“That’s it. I’m Zora and nothing more.”

“Ulquiorra Cifer. Fourth Espada.”

The woman’s posture shifts. She’s relaxed, annoyingly so. Ulquiorra knows that she can feel how strong he is. She’s either playing at unconcerned or...

Those thoughts are quickly quashed. 

Zora, as her name is, is holding a very familiar sword. Ulquiorra stares at it for a moment, considering very carefully if it could really be Grimmjow’s. Every piece lines up. Her hand is massive around it, making the imposing blade look like little more than a toy. Could she have found it? Picked it up? Or is there more to this story than he wants there to be?

. . . 

“Espada, hm? I wonder what that could be. You see, I’ve been out here in the sand for so long, I don’t know much about what’s outside of it. Are you someone strong, boy?”

Zora grins with too many teeth. Zora adjusts her grip around her stolen blade and makes it very clear that she’s be more than happy to use it. 

This man too has a sword at his hip. It’s another unfamiliar one, the style confusing to her eyes. An oddity. Something that would have belonged in her collection back in the day. Something that she wants even now. Learning how to fight with these new tools sounds  _ delightful.  _

“Espada are the strongest soldiers in Aizen-sama’s army. Aizen-sama is a Shinigami who rules Hueco Mundo,” Ulquiorra states, clearly humoring her. His little emotionless act is so, so cute. 

“Ah, so  _ that’s  _ what this place is called.” Zora puts a finger from her free hand to her chin, smiles. “And now, I have to ask, what exactly is a Shinigami?”

Ulquiorra's eye twitches again. 

“You can figure that much out for yourself. Return the sword to me.  _ Now.  _ My mission is to recover it.”

Zora glances down at her sword, then back to Ulquiorra. 

“Mm, I don’t think so. This sword is  _ mine,  _ you see. I like it. And if it’s mine, it’s just not possible to return it to someone else.” And perhaps, Zora tacks on in her head, she’ll have another one very soon. 

. . . 

How annoying. This woman is simply not cooperating. Ulquiorra was rather hoping that he could get Pantera back simply, not have to deal with crazed Arrancar lost out in the sands. But a mission is a mission, and it will simply have to be accomplished. 

“Return the sword,” he says again. 

It’s becoming more and more apparent that there’s something strange going on with this woman. 

Could she really be a monster? Without feeling her spiritual pressure, Ulquiorra can’t tell so easily. So far, she’s done nothing to fight him, nothing to make herself into anything of a threat. 

All she’s done is hold Grimmjow’s sword and mock him. 

. . . 

“No.”

It’s all she says. It’s all she needs to. 

Ulquiorra stares blankly, shifts his posture, and adjusts one hand to point towards her. He’s clearly going to try something very stupid. Zora wonders if she should crush him like she did the other. 

Before she can really decide that, there’s a blast of green light bursting towards her. Zora reacts on instinct, catching the energy with a hand that she somehow  _ knows  _ can take it. The light hits her palm, stinging faintly, then deflects to all sides in scattered rays. 

“What was that?” she asks. “Was that supposed to hurt?” Ulquiorra looks vaguely affronted. 

“Return the sword,” he says again, charging up another burst. 

“My, you’re getting boring.”

The light fires. This time, Zora neatly sidesteps it, body responding perfectly. With a flash of movement that feels beyond natural, Zora is behind him. Her hand goes to the back of Ulquiorra’s neck. 

. . . 

She blocked his Cero. She blocked his Cero and moved with a Sonido so fast Ulquiorra couldn’t track it. 

Massive fingers and a cold grip close on Ulquiorra’s throat from behind, Zora’s grip almost stretching all the way around his neck. Sharp nails prickle at vital things under his skin. Ulquiorra shivers despite himself. 

This isn’t natural. 

It’s becoming increasingly likely that this is the monster Grimmjow spoke of. Ulquiorra doesn’t know what to  _ do  _ with that information, beyond take it back to Aizen and wait for new orders. If this creature is as strong as Grimmjow said, if the brash idiot wasn’t exaggerating in his little tale, this could be very bad indeed. 

He’ll simply have to crush her. If Ulquiorra brings the monster down himself, there will be no problem left. 

No one is watching out here anyway. 

. . . 

“Hold still,” Zora states when it looks like Ulquiorra is starting to get some ideas about fighting her. As fun as that would be...

She’d rather not ruin his spirit quite yet. 

“Release me.” No emotion in his tone. 

“I could crush your throat in a second, boy. Quit your complaining and stay still before I  _ want  _ to. You’re not getting the sword. It’s mine. I took it, and it’s mine now.” Irritation prickles under Zora’s skin. It’s not the insult so much as that he’s really only doing one thing. 

Ulquiorra’s sharp, sterile scent catches in her throat. Zora decides that it’s quite a disgusting smell in the end. It’s too clean, too simple. There’s nothing to it that makes her feel like home. 

Ulquiorra stays perfectly still but flares his own energy like he’s trying to intimidate her, like he’s hoping she’ll fall from the force of it.

Instead, Zora begins to eat. 

The taste of nothing, of water, slides over her tongue. The boy’s energy seeps away from him and into her in one smooth, steady slide. Her mouth fills, her throat fills- for one moment, Zora feels as if she’s drowning. But then, the tension bursts and liquid power fills her veins. It feels like all the strength in the world is oozing into her. 

He’s like a bottomless pit of energy, Zora thinks, fighting back a laugh as his eyes go wide. Then, she touches the bottom after all. 

. . . 

“What are you doing!?” Ulquiorra hisses, twisting away from the hand around his neck. Somehow, he gets the feeling that the monster is the one letting him go.

His spiritual energy is fading. Ulquiorra can feel it being sucked away. This isn’t some silly trick or mere ability; this creature, this woman is _eating _the very insides of him. She licks her lips, tongue flicking over too–sharp teeth. Ulquiorra gets the sudden prickle of something he’s never quite felt before, deep–seated in his chest. 

This is what being devoured feels like. 

On instinct, he draws his sword, body jumping to defend itself. He’s losing his cool. This isn’t  _ natural.  _

“Cease immediately, woman.” 

It’s one last hope. Maybe if he stands firm, she’ll give up. Not likely. A sicker part of him thinks that she might lose interest if he amuses her. Or just plain get bored. Anything to make this  _ stop.  _

It feels like the core of him is being drained. The deepest, most important parts of him having whole chunks removed. 

It hurts. 

. . . 

She won’t need to do more than this. Zora takes a step forward, inhales the crisp, clean scent of him. She’s strengthening. 

The fear in Ulquiorra’s expression is palpable. The hand that holds his sword is shaking. Zora is going to take everything from him, and he’ll be powerless to stop her. She’s going to become just what she’s meant to. 

Ulquiorra makes some futile protest once again. Zora isn’t listening. It doesn’t matter now. No matter what he says, she’s going to devour him piece by piece. Instinct runs hot under her skin, the vicious, churning need to  _ eat.  _ Be it power or meat, her body shouts, it doesn’t matter a bit. 

Pretty green eyes shine with fear when she gets closer. Zora places a hand on Ulquiorra’s shoulder. He doesn’t so much as take a slice at her. 

“Be still, boy. I’m hungry,” Zora says, veins singing with strength. 

“You know you can’t stop me.”

Zora puts her hand around his, massive fingers dwarfing his surprisingly delicate ones. His hands are small. She has to stoop to grab his sword one. She pulls it above his head when she stands.

Be it because of fear or sheer instinct, Ulquiorra doesn’t resist her. She slowly, carefully squeezes down on his fingers, pushing them away from his grip on his blade. Both to disarm him and to take what’s hers, Zora tightens her grip until the sword drops from his hand. 

It falls to sand with a soft, final sound. 

Then, Zora tugs his hand up higher, pulling Ulquiorra onto his toes. He’s unsteady. She’s been eating all this time. 

Zora stares into his emerald eyes for just a moment, the shine of them as bright as any jewel. A part of her is tempted to scoop them from their sockets, keep them like treasures for herself. 

Instead, she shoves him backward onto the ground. 

. . . 

She takes his sword. Ulquiorra feels Murcielago drop like a part of himself has been chopped off. 

When Zora shoves him, his whole body is too weak to resist. This is pathetic. The Fourth Espada shoved around like a toy. Even as every shred of his pride protests the treatment, Ulquiorra can’t make himself move. 

He’s paralyzed under her gaze. When he hits the sand, he doesn’t so much as flinch, just collapses soft and boneless into the white. Ulquiorra realizes with a sinking feeling that he’s shaking. His physical reactions are entirely out of his control. 

This must be what prey feels like. 

His mouth won’t work. He wants to protest, wants to pretend like he can still fight back, but not so much as a sentence will come out. Ulquiorra chokes over some pathetic noise, stuck like tar between his teeth. 

Zora watches him squirm for a minute that feels like an eternity. Then she sinks to her knees, straddling his waist. Up close, she’s  _ huge.  _ Up close, she looks every bit the monster that Grimmjow claimed she was. Her hole is through her left hand, Ulquiorra notes in a strange moment of awareness. The edges of it are scratched raw. 

. . . 

Zora lowers herself down, nuzzling into Ulquiorra’s throat. His smell is becoming more pleasant the longer she’s close to it. The more of it she takes into herself with every breath. 

He’s clean in a way she’ll never be, void of everything. In a way, he’s empty. In a way, he’s pure. 

She wants to know what his blood feels like on her tongue. The core of whatever creature she is now aches for meat, for blood and flesh and viscera sliding over her teeth. Ulquiorra seems like he’ll be as good a meal as any. Perhaps she’ll feel clean from the inside if she takes enough bites. 

“I’m going to eat you,” she says, and watches him shake. 

. . . 

The woman, the monster breathes against his skin. Every exhale is frigid, beyond even what a Hollow should be. 

She licks a stripe up the line of his jugular. Ulquiorra finds his voice. 

“Get off of me,” he tries to order. It comes out sounding more like a plea. “ _ Get off of me. _ ” 

She’s going to kill him. She’s going to  _ eat  _ him. Aizen will never even find his body, Ulquiorra thinks almost hysterically. His chest is burning with sensation dangerously close to feeling. He doesn’t want this. 

He doesn’t want to die like this. 

Zora sinks her teeth into the meat of his shoulder. The pain is electric. Ulquiorra twitches, flinches, jerks up into her teeth. For everything he’s been through, for everything he’s felt, somehow, this is the most painful of all. He can’t even fight. He can’t do anything to shove her away. No part of him is listening. He’s helpless and both of them know it. 

The monster breathes, chews. The monster smiles against his skin. Ulquiorra tries to find his own breath, choking on his fear. 

She takes another bite from the same area, sinking through already shredded flesh. Ulquiorra feels her teeth snap through his collarbone with a crisp, brutal  _ crunch _ , and suddenly, his neck isn’t doing quite what it’s supposed to. His arm won’t respond. 

This is the most injured he’s been in a while, definitely the most that’s been done by something else. Even with his fear response dulling the pain, he can feel every tear and pull of her teeth. 

. . . 

Two bites in, and Zora’s hindbrain is singing. It feels fantastic to tear into something alive. She never did this when she was alive, never once. 

She must, Zora thinks with a laugh, be a real monster now. 

Ulquiorra tastes like water under her tongue. His meat is tasteless, disintegrates before it even gets all the way down her throat. Her stomach is as empty as ever, but the energy still seeping off of him leaves her fulfilled. It doesn’t matter if she can’t taste him, the sharp, neutral smell is plenty. 

Bone snapped on her second bite. Her jaws must be stronger than a wolf’s by now. Whatever she’s become, it’s glorious. This body, this self she’s been given, is all the power she could have dreamed of. 

Zora pictures tundra and a blue sky. Zora breathes in air as cold as it ever was. Zora feels like this is where she belongs. 

Right where her strength will serve her well. 

Her two bites was enough. She doesn’t want this one dead. Like Grimmjow before him, he’s delicious. She doesn’t want this taste to be gone. She could feed off of him for ages if he’s left alive. 

So Zora pulls back. 

Licking the blood off her teeth, she stares down at Ulquiorra’s deathly pale face. His skin is like porcelain, like snow. His eyes are tightly closed. 

“I’ve had my fill,” she tells him. “You’ll live to meet me another day.”

With that, Zora stands. She picks up both his blade and the other one that she dropped when she sank to Ulquiorra’s side. One sword in each hand, one more treasure claimed for herself. With her mouth slick with blood and shreds of muscle, with her body filled with the spirit of him- 

Zora is satisfied for now. 

. . . 

Ulquiorra watches the monster slip under the sand, vanishing like she was never there. 

Breathing so hard he thinks his chest might break, he lays there and tries to return to his usual empty calm. He’s alive. He’s alive and that’s all that matters. There’s no need for him to be any different than before. 

But, but Murcielago is gone, and he’s missing a large chunk of many parts of him from the area between shoulder and throat. He can’t hold his head up. His arm still won’t respond. Even as flesh is knitting itself back together, Ulquiorra feels drained and so, so weak. 

The air is colder around him that ever. Making his way back to Las Noches seems like an impossible task. His body is still shaking like it thinks it will be killed at any second.

Ulquiorra stares up at the eternal crescent moon and wonders how he’s ever supposed to explain this to Aizen. 

The monster under the sand is real.


End file.
